


In Your Heart Shall Endure

by LavworthMyWay



Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, POV Dante Quintana, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 11:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20435606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavworthMyWay/pseuds/LavworthMyWay
Summary: Aristotle. Aristotle and Dante. The universe sure worked in amusing ways.Dante wasn’t sure where he mustered the courage to offer teaching this boy how to swim, but life always worked in mysterious ways. Ways that he had yet to figure out.With all his innocent infatuation, Dante was absolutely captivated by this boy.-Or, snapshots of the story through Dante's eyes.





	In Your Heart Shall Endure

When Dante first looked into those eyes, he knew he was a goner from the beginning.

The boy stood at the side of the pool. Clear, cool water lapped playfully at his knees. His boyish features glowed softly under the warm sun rays. He was radiant, like the sun itself. And Dante felt this gravitational pull towards this boy and let his feet guide him towards him.

The boy laughed when Dante introduced himself but was quick to apologise. It was fine, people laughed at his name all the time. But his laugh held no malice. It was pure and light, carrying a childlike joy that made Dante’s heart flutter for a strange reason.

He introduced himself as Aristotle. Or Ari, as he preferred. And then it all made sense. Dante couldn't help but feel excitement bubbling inside of him.

Aristotle. Aristotle and Dante. The universe sure worked in amusing ways.

Dante wasn’t sure where he mustered the courage to offer teaching this boy how to swim, but life always worked in mysterious ways. Ways that he had yet to figure out.

With all his innocent infatuation, Dante was absolutely captivated by this boy.

* * *

Dante never saw the car coming.

All he could see was the bird in the middle of the road, struggling to take flight. His vision narrowed in on the broken wing.

And then he heard Ari screaming his name, and the world spun.

Dante never saw the car coming. He only saw the mechanical monster engulfing Ari. Only heard the sickening crunch of his bones.

Everything was a blur afterwards. His tears blurred his vision. His wails drowned out all other noises. His mouth reeked of shameful guilt. If only he hadn’t gone onto the street. If only he hadn’t been more attentive to his surroundings. If only he hadn’t gotten lost inside his own head.

If only he hadn’t taken Ari’s strength for granted. The strength that made Dante believe Ari could do anything.

All he was focused on was the poor bird on the road. He didn’t even register the screech of tires and Ari’s terrified scream for him.

His world spun violently as Ari pushed him aside. And when he came to, the most horrific of revelations fell upon him.

Never did a day go by where he burdens himself with regret, mindlessly entertaining what-ifs and could-have-beens where Ari wasn't lying on the hospital bed with his legs broken. Dante punished himself constantly with his own guilt.

Ari later made him swear not to talk about the accident, thank him, or cry. It wasn’t easy, because those were all that Dante wanted to do. But it was what Ari wished, and the least he could do was to agree.

He decided to give Ari his sketchbook. For all Ari had done for him, for all he had meant to him, Dante felt he deserved at least that much. He wasn’t sure if Ari would see it as sympathy or pity. He hoped not. He only wished to reveal a side of himself, a side no one else had privy to, to Ari. Because he trusted Ari with such knowledge. Ari was the only one he felt he could lay bare his soul to and still be seen the way he was.

That was why he dreaded the day he would leave for Chicago. Chicago was a faraway land from El Paso. They were at the opposite ends of a universe. It felt like that because of Ari. Ari was his star, his sun. A planet without a sun would just be shrouded in darkness.

Dante stared at Ari, trying to commit every inch of his face to memory.

He decided to tell Ari his innermost feelings. He feared he would never have the chance to again.

He told Ari the two things he loved most in the world were swimming and Ari. Swimming because it was how he got to know Ari, how he could bond with Ari despite sharing little in common.

Something inside of him shattered, when Ari said Dante shouldn’t have told him that. Dante had held out a fragile part of him to Ari, and witnessed it fall apart right before his eyes.

He understood. He always understood. Ari wasn’t that kind of person. It had been foolish of him to hope.

But Dante cried anyway, weeping silent tears in the car as his father drove off into the unknown.

* * *

Dante never hesitated to pick up his pen and manifest his thoughts on his letters to Ari. Even if Ari rarely wrote back. Dante knew he read his letters nonetheless.

Seven to one. That’s the ratio of letters Dante and Ari had written to each other respectively. He had to count them. Make it real. Just like that time when he insisted on measuring the distance they threw their shoes. He always had the inherent drive to know, to have some semblance of order.

Ari was not like him. Ari was like a mirage in the distant horizon of a desert. A heat shimmer that thrummed arbitrarily in the air. Ungraspable. And yet, Dante walked towards it anyway, despite knowing that if he reached his hand out it might flail fruitlessly for purchase. That he would find something he could hold onto. And just when he would pull back in disappointment, the mirage would fade to reveal a lake, reinvigorating him and blessing him with the joy of being alive.

Ari had always been like this. Inscrutable.

(_“Inscrutable.” He remembered Ari echoing after him. Dante hadn’t thought much about that word when he described his mother, but when it rolled off Dante’s tongue, it was like hearing it for the first time. And he wanted Ari to repeat it over and over._)

Never had a day passed without him yearning for the other boy.

Sometimes, the yearning would burn bright, like an aching fire crackling below the pit of his stomach. And he would surrender to those desires. He would imagine Ari – from the mysterious glint in his eyes to the curve of his neck to the curl of his fingers – and he would yield.

And oh – was a it a blissful yield.

He was in control of his body, yet at the same time he wasn’t. He was well aware of where his hand was, but the sparks of pleasure igniting beneath his fingertips and palm were otherworldly. His vision grew hazy and his body began to warm. The warm haze only enraptured Dante’s mind with fantasies of the captivating heat from Ari’s body. The rolling waves of pleasure swelled with every pulse of his racing heart and soon he came crashing down with a sharp gasp.

After he had descended from his euphoric high, Dante eventually penned to Ari about masturbation. It probably was a weird thing to write about in a letter. He never mentioned whose name had escaped his lips when he touched himself. He knew that would put things to an uncomfortable, permanent end between them. But he needed an outlet, something to express that hurricane of emotions in him.

He knew why he had felt that way. Dante wasn’t sure when he fell in love with his friend. But he only knew for a fact that somewhere in between the times they spent together, Dante had unwittingly given his heart to Aristotle Mendoza.

* * *

The day back to El Paso finally rolled around. Dante buzzed with nervous anticipation in his dad’s car. It was always good to be back home.

Deciding that soaking in the morning sun was a promising idea, Dante stepped out to the porch That was the moment he heard _him_.

His hair was longer, and he stacked a few inches taller, but Dante would never have mistaken him for anyone else.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he opened his mouth, and called out his name.

Ari snapped his head towards him, and Dante felt like the sun just exploded inside of his chest. Ari was even more beautiful than the day Dante last saw him.

A look of apprehension crossed Ari’s face. He didn’t know how to start the conversation. He was never good at it. Dante didn’t mind. After all, it was an Ari thing to do. Dante just had to be good enough for them both. Overwhelmed with happiness, he leapt at Ari and threw his arms around him.

And when Ari laughed – oh, how much he had missed his laughter.

* * *

When Dante pressed his lips onto Daniel’s, he closed his eyes so he would imagine kissing another.

He would imagine kissing away the stiffness from Ari’s mouth, cajoling it to tender softness. He would run his fingers through Daniel’s hair, imagining longer locks of dark hair. And when Daniel moaned into his mouth, Dante would imagine a lower baritone, a voice he would never tire of hearing.

At that moment, Dante was kissing Ari. Daniel ceased to exist and there was only Ari.

When Dante pried an eye open to a distant sound of footsteps, he noticed from the corner of his eye four boys approaching with burning hatred marring their faces. And with a sinking sense of dread, he already knew what was to come.

Daniel broke into a frenzied run, driven by fearful self-preservation. In his petrified state, he left Dante in the dust, frantically escaping the dream-turned-nightmare. But Dante stood his ground. He could have gone with Daniel. But he was never the type to run away.

All those years ago, when he confronted the two boys hurting the bird, he stood his ground as well. But Ari had been there. Ari scared the boys away.

This time, there was no Ari to step in and stop him from getting hurt.

At that very moment, Dante was alone.

* * *

Ari parked his truck at his usual spot. He stared out into horizon, where the clear sky kissed the desert plains. His mind was lost between the seams, and Dante felt like he could not reach him.

“I love it here.” He murmured.

Dante wasn’t sure where Ari was getting at and found himself broiling in growing annoyance. It hurt. The burning ache of being so close yet so far was tearing him apart. To hear the fondness in Ari’s voice but knowing that it was not directed at _him_. It’s inane and immature to be angry over this, but he couldn’t help himself.

Ari slowly reached his hand up to the tennis shoes hanging from the rear-view mirror. Dante’s shoes. Ari was touching _his_ shoes. Dante imagined Ari touching him with the same tenderness in his fingers. His chest tightened in anguished hopelessness.

“I love these things.”

Ari loves those things, but not him. Something inside of Dante twisted in agony, like a knife had been plunged inside of him. Bitter resentment rose up his throat.

“You love a lot of things, don’t you?” And it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You sound mad. I thought you weren’t mad anymore.”

“I think _I am_ mad.”

“I’m sorry. I said I was sorry.”

The pain became too much to bear. His eyes began to sting hotly. “I can’t do this, Ari.”

“Can’t do what?” Ari gaped at him in confusion.

“This whole friend thing. I can’t do it.” _I can’t stand by your side trying not to hold you close without feeling like I am dying on the inside._

“Why not?”

Dante _really_ wanted to punch him right now. “I have to explain it to you?”

When Ari couldn’t offer a response, Dante hopped out of the truck and slammed the door shut with all the anguish brewing inside of him. He heard the door on Ari’s side open and quickened his pace. The last thing he needed was Ari being all up in his space prodding more out of him. Ari called out for him from behind and touched his shoulder. It stung from all the wishful thinking and hopeless disappointment. Dante pushed him away, spitting out his resentment on being touched by him.

It wasn’t true. He loved it when Ari touched him. Dante love touching him. But not now, when he knew Ari would not reciprocate the affection he yearned for. It would be better to avoid contact at all than to put himself up for more despondency.

The despairing realisation crushed him - Ari would never love him the same way.

They stared at each other in silence, waiting. Waiting for the other to do something. For something to happen. Dante didn’t know what exactly. He just wanted Ari to stop hurting him.

“Dante.”

Dante just wished Ari would stop trying. He’d just make him feel worse. “_What_?”

Ari flinched at the anger. “Don’t be mad.”

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at Ari’s poor attempt to cajole him. He’s always been bad with words. Dante had always been alright with that. He didn’t mind speaking for them both. But not now, he wasn’t sure if he could bear to speak without his emotions splitting him apart.

“I don’t know what to do, Ari.” Dante’s voice trembled. At a loss, he was completely clueless on what to do. There’s no turning back. There was no way to fix this between them.

“Remember that time you kissed me?”

Of course he did.

“Remember I said it didn’t work for me?”

Dante felt his heart tearing itself in half. He did not see the point of bringing this up. Of course he remembered! His anger poured out of his mouth like lava that wrecked catastrophic havoc to everything in its path.

“I’ve never seen you this mad.”

Dante had never seen himself like this either. Somewhere, in the numb, detached corners of his mind, he found himself shocked at the anger he was displaying now. He wasn't sure where all this came from.

Ari’s voice lulled him back to reality.

“What did I say when you kissed me?”

Dante shut his eyes tight, physically unable to endure the pain.

“You said it didn’t work for you.” He forced the words out. They tasted vile on his tongue.

“I lied.”

Dante froze.

Two words. Two words were all it needed to send Dante’s world to an abrupt halt.

He turned to Ari, searching his eyes for any sign of deception, humour, anything to indicate the falsehood in his confession.

“Don’t play with me, Ari.” If this was Ari’s idea of a joke, it was not at all funny. Dante didn’t know what he would do to him if it was.

“I’m not.” Ari closed the gap between him, face steeled in nervous determination, and reached for his shoulders. He stared right into his eyes and he didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. His head was reeling in disbelief.

“You said I wasn’t scared of anything. That’s not true. _You_. That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of you, Dante.”

_Afraid of me? _Dante didn’t understand.

Ari sucked in a deep breath. Dante couldn’t tear his gaze away from him. The way his eyes fluttered shut, or the way his lips pursed into a tight line, or the way his chest swelled with nervous resolution.

“Try it again. Kiss me.”

“No.” Dante refused. This couldn’t be real. He had to be sure. Needed to be sure. That Ari was serious. That Ari truly wanted him. Yearned for him like how Dante yearned for him.

“Kiss me.” Ari repeated.

Despite everything – the shock, the dizziness – Dante found himself breaking out into a smile. “No. _You_ kiss _me_.”

Ari’s eyes widened. But there was no hesitation in his movements, when he cupped the back of Dante’s neck and gently tugged him close.

Ari’s lips pressed against his and Dante knew that this time, Ari was not going to pull away. Dante felt every inch of his body singing in pure bliss. He melted under Ari’s touch. The air was sweet with Ari’s scent, with a hint of the evening grass. He knew he would stay like this forever, if he could.

Right now, there was no other place he’d rather be – held in Ari’s arms under the canvas of summer stars with a tenderness that was finally nurtured into fruition. The universe had been stringing him along on her enigmatic game all the while, and this was one of the few comforting times Dante could decipher her perplexing riddles. Dante slipped back into an amorous ataraxy, determined to cherish this sweet moment in Ari's embrace while the world still only consisted of the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> The book evoked so much feels out of me, it got me out of my writing block...only for me to fall back into said writing block.
> 
> (Can I hear a wahoo)
> 
> It took a terribly long while, but I made it a point to finish writing what I have nevertheless. And here it is! A+ for trying, I suppose.


End file.
